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by QueenOfTheWesternSky



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bad Day Aftercare, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Literally this is just fluff don't @ me, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28712388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfTheWesternSky/pseuds/QueenOfTheWesternSky
Summary: That Tuesday morning had been cursed from the start--he'd slept through his alarm, Potya had decided to go to sleep on his nice clean training clothes and claw up his hand when he tried to move her to wear said clothes. He'd been late to practice with Lilia, she had yelled at him. He'd been late to practice with Yakov, he had yelled at him.He couldn't even complain to Beka about it because the bastard had the gall to have a day off.The fucking nerve of him. Being at home with the cat.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60





	home

The problem with setting absurdly high standards for oneself was that henceforth the entire goddamn world expected a whole lot of you. 

This was a regrettable fact Yuri had to live with. While he was proud, bordering on extremely smug, about the fact that he had in fact set his entire field's bar higher right from the get go, the problem remained that now people expected a lot of him all the damn time. 

Granted, it had been four years since then and he hadn't often disappointed. But that Tuesday morning had been cursed from the start--he'd slept through his alarm (Otabek had also, somehow, slept through his alarm), Potya had decided to go to sleep on his nice clean training clothes and claw up his hand when he tried to move her to wear said clothes. He'd been late to practice with Lilia, she had yelled at him. He'd been late to practice with Yakov, he had yelled at him. 

And then with all the grace of a baby deer, he had fucked up landing an axel four fucking times. He couldn't even complain to Beka about it because the bastard had the gall to have a day off to rest after an intense few days of training.

The fucking nerve of him. Being at home with the cat when Yuri was here, at the rink, being glared at even more than usual by Yakov--who was being glared at by Lilia, who was absolutely fixing to have an argument with Yakov about Yuri. 

It's with a huff that he wobbles his way upright off the ice again, his once neat high ponytail having turned into a frizzy mess, and angrily skated toward the wall.

"I'm taking ten." He barked at Yakov--who attempted to bark back before being barked at by Lilia. 

And there they went, arguing about some aspect of his training they didn't agree on--or otherwise Lilia was blaming Yakov for something Yuri had done. He still wasn't sure how that one worked, but it sure did happen. 

Scowling at his own reflection in the change room mirror, he can't help but think this particular Tuesday was doomed from the start. Yuri would hardly call himself the superstitious sort--he didn't need luck charms or good vibes or his ancestors on his side to get shit done. 

But he's beginning to suspect when Potya had declared war on his right hand this morning, he should have just called it and stayed home with Otabek for the day.

It has been seven and a half minutes when Yakov's occasionally booming voice yells across the rink,

"YOU'RE OVERTIME ON BREAK, YUROCHKA."

It was 10:30. It would be a very long day indeed.

  
  


Otabek had had quite a pleasant day at home, all things considered. While she was at first wary of him, he and Potya had formed an alliance shortly after he and Yuri had gotten the apartment together.

For the low low price of a few treats Yuri didn't know about each day, and scritches in the good spot behind her ear regularly, they had become quite close companions on Otabek's days off--at least when those days off didn't align with Yuri's.

(They rarely did--Yakov had them doing vastly different training and days off during heavy training periods where they lined up were nothing short of miraculous).

But as Yuri had left for Lilia's studio that morning (fifteen minutes later than he should have), he had been muttering something about the day being cursed, and he was muttering even more intently when he returned back that evening--an hour later than he should have.

Otabek had always been a great admirer of how tenacious, stubborn and hardworking Yuri was--he had been well before the two of them had even become acquaintances, let alone anything more intimate. Perhaps for a while, he too had fallen into the trap of thinking that because Yuri _seemed_ endlessly capable, that meant it was true. 

This had proven not the case when they had become friends some years ago, and Yuri had been revealed to be a flawed human being. Who on occasion had bad days and came home looking like a half-drowned kitten, complete with the most pitiful look on his face imaginable. 

“Oh dear,” was somehow the only thing Otabek could think to say as Yuri walked over, dropping his skate bag on the floor by the door as he went, and thudding his forehead against Otabek’s chest with a pitiful groan. “Bad day?”

The answer was, of course, another groan. 

A hand quickly found Yuri’s hair--a tangled mess, still tied up from training. “Alright, c’mon. This way, Yura. I’ll take care of it.” Otabek murmured softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as he nudged Yuri down the hall toward their bathroom. 

He quickly ran the water--just short of boiling, because muscle aches were hell and Yuri was ridiculous, he knew this well--and started gently removing Yuri’s training clothes, tossing them into the hamper in the corner. The process was only slightly hindered by Yuri’s borderline zombielike state of exhaustion. 

Steam rose off the water as he nudged Yuri in. For all his beauty and grace, something about his movements presently reminded Otabek of a baby fawn; wobbly, unsteady and struggling to stay on its feet. 

Kneeling by the tub, it was only once Yuri was in, some of the tension noticeably vanishing from his shoulders, that Otabek took a stab at undoing the tangled mess his ponytail had become. Despite a lifetime of short hair and undercuts, he hadn’t been totally clueless when Yura had come into his life--a big family growing up had meant sometimes, there was no one left to do his younger sisters hair in the morning before school. Clumsy efforts in making Aylin look presentable each morning had culminated in some passable skills.

Hair tie removed, Yura’s golden hair was a mess of tangles and sweat, far removed from how soft it had been that morning when he’d run his fingers through it as they had both, admittedly, slept in far too late. 

A soft huff followed. “What on earth did Yakov do to you today?” He mused, tilting Yuri’s head back with a gentle finger under his chin to slowly pour the warm water over his hair.

“Torture.” Yuri grumbled. Otabek was glad his lover was faced away from him, for he couldn’t keep the amusement off his face. Somehow he knew if Yakov had gone easy on him with training, it would only have made things worse. A tired Yuri, Otabek could handle, a furious, scorned Yuri? 

It was better to just stay out of the way. 

“I’m sure.” He murmured, amusement lilting his voice as he began to brush out Yuri’s hair with the detangling brush Yuri had insisted was nothing but a gimmick and proceeded to use religiously anyway. The thought brings a smile to Otabek’s lips. _Stubborn boy._

With the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, Otabek slowly, meticulously brushed out every tangle and snarl, gentle so as not to pull--he had plenty of practice after all. A milder day, and Yuri would be ranting and raving, but he remained silent except for the soft exhale of breath, the gentle movements of the water as he shifted, hugging his knees to his chest while Otabek painstakingly worked. 

“Hand me the shampoo?” 

A bottle of cherry blossom scented shampoo is handed over, and applied with light even pressure from his fingertips. Potya pads into the room, leaning up against the rim of the tub and peering in and what Otabek can only assume she believes hell looks like. A concerned mew follows as the cat stares bug eyed at her soggy human, while Otabek continues massaging shampoo into his hair. 

“She probably thinks _I’m_ torturing you. Inflicting a cruel and unusual punishment.” Otabek rumbles through a smile. The cat is side eyeing him quite fiercely, despite their tempestuous alliance. 

“Good girl Potya.” Yuri mumbles, reaching a hand out of the water to scratch under her chin. This seems to quell any urge she might have had to attack Otabek in vengeance or protectiveness. 

_Thank god._

The threat of Potya nullified, Otabek gently tilts Yuri’s head back and begins pouring warm water through his hair. The hard scrunched line in Yuri’s forehead seems to have eased and vanished--good. A tense Yuri did no one any good. 

Then came the matching conditioner to be combed gently through his hair--it was getting long now. Much longer than it had been when they met. He knew Yuri got a lot of comments about how much like Viktor he looked with it grown out, which had led to Otabek having to hide the clippers he used for his undercut in order to stop him from making a very impulsive decision indeed.

Usually, Yuri was glad he hadn’t let him do it. But only usually.

By the time he’s done with Yuri’s hair, he’s practically dozing off in the still warm water, chin resting atop his knees. 

“C’mon, up. Let’s get you to bed.” He murmured, nudging him out of the bath. Practically dead on his feet, and still on wobbly fawn legs, Yuri stumbles toward their bedroom wrapped in a bathrobe, Potya trotting protectively behind him. 

When Otabek reaches the bedroom, Yuri is sprawled face down in the middle of the bed--not in any of the many shirts of Otabek’s he had stolen for the purposes of pajamas, nor any of the many pairs of pajamas he owned--but still in the bathrobe, hair only half-dried, Potya curled up in the small of his back, seemingly content with the world.

“Yura.”

A muffled groan.

Well then. Since Yuri himself was going to be absolutely no help, Otabek supposed he’d just take care of it then. Very carefully, and with a good amount of fear, Potya was shifted from Yuri’s back to a pillow embroidered with her name (Otabek hadn’t asked where that had come from). Yuri was dragged half upright and leaning against Otabek while the latter toweled his hair to at least an acceptable level of dryness.

“You’ll catch cold going to bed like that.” He murmured.

“That’s an old wives tale, also I’m _Russian,_ Beka. We don’t catch cold.” Yuri muttered back sleepily.

“You’re cold all the time. I’ve never met a single person who owns and wears as many hoodies as you do. Because you’re cold. All the time.” Otabek chided gently, finally tossing the towel vaguely in the direction of their hamper. He’d pick that up later.

“Lies and slander. An insult against my bloodline.” He grumbled, still leaning against Otabek with his whole body weight.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Obviously. But you like that about me. You’ve said so.”

Otabek couldn’t find it in him to argue with that. He had, in fact, on many occasions pointed out that he did like Yuri for all his ridiculousness. Of which there was plenty. “I suppose I do.” It was hard to argue about much of anything at all, as Yuri shifted around, curling up against his chest in a way not unlike something Potya had done earlier in the day while the two watched Netflix together. “C’mon. You need sleep.” 

There is only the slightest sound of protest as Otabek nudges them both to lie down, drawing Yuri in close, letting him rest his head on Otabek’s chest. His pale blonde hair is still ever so slightly damp as Otabek begins running his fingers through it, gentle and practiced to not pull at any tangles or snarls. 

Glancing down at him--the top of his head visible, the curve of his sharp cheekbones, the slight upturn of his nose--it’s easy to get lost for a moment. To wonder with awe how exactly he had managed this, with this wonderful boy, who Otabek was proud to call his even on the bad days. Even those that might be deemed cursed by the boy in question. “Yura?” He calls softly, something horribly sweet and sappy on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill past his lips. 

All he got in response was a quiet, kittenish snore.

**Author's Note:**

> I have nothing to say for myself except I blame Jas.


End file.
